


snot and snow

by nezstorm



Series: chasing tails [16]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Sick Stiles, Snow, TOOTH- ROTTING FLUFF, Werefox Stiles, Young Peter Hale, kid stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 19:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: Werefoxes are, for the most part, much like werewolves. They have enhanced senses, they’re far stronger than humans, and they age slower.They’re different in the way they transform, all the foxes capable taking on a full fox form whereas only few werewolves can achieve the full shift. They’re also faster than wolves, but it comes with the price of slower healing.And much like everything else, the healing is even slower for children.





	snot and snow

Werefoxes are, for the most part, much like werewolves. They have enhanced senses, they’re far stronger than humans, and they age slower.

 

They’re different in the way they transform, all the foxes capable taking on a full fox form whereas only few werewolves can achieve the full shift. They’re also faster than wolves, but it comes with the price of slower healing. 

 

And much like everything else, the healing is even slower for children.

 

Which doesn’t seem to concern Stiles at all.

 

\--

 

Peter gets a rather rough wake up call that day: his little fox storming into his room, jumping on the bed, and subsequently Peter, and squealing into his face.

 

“Snow!” Stiles exclaims, “Peter, wake up, there’s snow!”

 

Peter grunts, displeased by being forced awake, and tugs at the covers in a vain attempt at pulling them over his head and going back to sleep. Stiles knows him better than that, as is firmly settled right on top of the werewolf, preventing him from hiding away.

 

“Stiles,” Peter’s voice is gruff with sleep that he would really love to get back to, “Get off and go away. I’m sleeping.”

 

“No, you’re not!” Stiles chirps, completely unaffected by Peter’s glare and the promise of murder written all over his face, “You’re gotta come play in the snow with me!”

 

Groaning, Peter pulls his pillow from under his head and puts it right over his face, shielding himself from all this  _ excitement _ and  _ enthusiasm _ . Those should seriously be banned before noon. 

 

He can feel Stiles pouting even through his barrier and he knows he’ll give in soon enough, but that doesn’t mean he won’t put up a fight.

 

He feels Stiles wiggle a top him and then lie down, and soon enough the little fox is pushing his head right under Peter’s pillow. 

 

“Please?” Stiles pouts at him, “I’ll even make you breakfast,” he promises.

 

Peter laughs at that because the height of Stiles’ kitchen skills is cereal and a glass of juice, maybe a half-burnt toast. Instead of replying he wraps an arm around the kit and rolls them over, tickling Stiles until the boy is calling for mercy. Only then does he actually get up.

 

“I want cranberry juice,” he tells the boy and gets a wide, bright grin in reply.

 

\---

 

Neither of them has to dress up much for the weather, -- all weres run hot after all -- and Stiles looks ready to shift before they even put their shoes on, so Peter doesn’t bother insisting on jackets or hats. 

 

Sure enough, they get as far as the tree line, and then Peter has a bundle of clothes to collect as a red fox bounds around him in a circle. 

 

Stiles barks at Peter, a giddy little sound, and he’s off, Peter following after him at a steady pace. He trails the footprints and the excited noises Stiles makes, his bushy tail swishing around as he attacks bushes and searches for mice and rabbits. 

 

He’s following a bunny trail, light on his feet and nose close to the snow-covered ground, up until he finds a snow pile. Peter’s sure Stiles’ face would be lighting up with pure joy wasn’t it currently a muzzle. 

 

Stiles jumps up high and dives into the snow head first, sinking up deep enough that only his hind legs and tail are sticking out. 

 

Peter watches him as his legs kick at empty air, his butt wiggling, and snorts when the muffled yowling reaches his ears.

 

Of course he got stuck in a pile of snow.

 

Peter is tempted to let him strain for a few minutes, observe his futile attempts at freeing himself. It would only be fair, after the way he woke up Peter this morning.

 

But then he sees the bushy, red tail flop down and the yowls get louder, and Peter is pulling him out before he even decides to move. The fox always takes precedence over petty revenge. 

 

He doesn’t put the little fox down though, not when the little black nose that’s pressed into his neck is cold enough to make him shiver. He just secures his hold on the kit and the clothes he discarded earlier and takes them back home.

 

\---

 

When Peter wakes up the next morning to the sound of his alarm he’s a bit surprised, but far from worried. Even his little, endless bundle of joy has a late morning every now and then, and Peter takes great pleasure in being the one to wake him up.

 

But as he walks into Stiles’ room he’s greeted with the stench of sickness, the little fox looking even paler than usual as he shivers under his green turtle blanket.

 

Peter doesn’t have much experience with colds, even if he has a few human cousins and aunts, so he calls softly for his sister before he moves further into the room.

 

He sits at the edge of Stiles’ bed and smoothes a hand over Stiles’ forehead just as Talia appears at the door.

 

He sees her grimace a bit at the smell, but she joins them soon enough, checking Stiles over for fever.

 

Stiles’ eyes are glassy when he looks up at them, a pitiful whine building in his throat.

 

“I guess you’ll be staying home today, baby,” Talia decides, “I’ll make you some tea and something light to eat, and we’ll ask Mark to prepare some soup later. Are you feeling nauseous?” 

 

Stiles shakes his head no and opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is croaking, swiftly followed up by a coughing fit.

 

“Oh, little frog,” Peter rubs his back until the boy calms. 

 

“I’ll check if we have some medicine that’ll help you sleep it off,” Talia says as she heads for the door, “Peter, you should get ready for school or you’ll be late.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” he replies, but spends a while helping Stiles settle in bed.

 

He’s used to caring for Stiles, but this is the first time he can’t do much to help. The cold will be gone by tomorrow, Stiles’ enhanced healing will take care of that, but in the meantime the boy will be left suffering and that is not something Peter ever wants to see. 

 

He gets him another blanket, a ninja turtle one this time, and a pillow from his room. 

 

“Wolfie,” Stiles says, voice rough, pointing at his beloved wolf plushie sitting on one of the shelves. 

 

Peter obliges, watches with a fond smiles as Stiles clutches the toy to his chest, then bundles him up tightly in the blanket.

 

“I’ll be home soon,” he promises as he kisses the little fox’s forehead, then plants another kiss on Wolfie when Stiles nudges the plushie his way. “Get some rest.”

 

\---

 

Stiles is curled up in Peter’s bed when he gets back, together with his plushie and his blankets. He’s been quiet, according to Mark, groggy and still in the rare intervals that he spent awake.

 

He’s asleep now too, snoring softly because of his clogged up nose. He doesn’t even stir as Peter kneels next to the bed and brushes hair back from his sweaty forehead.

 

It’s minutes later that his eyes blink open. They’re still a bit shiny, but Stiles is smiling up at him now and Peter feels himself relaxing a bit even though he hadn’t even realized how worried he was before. 

 

“Hey, Red. How are you feeling?” 

 

“Tired. Sleepy. Can’t breathe,” Stiles tells him, sniffles a bit.

 

It’s the most adorable sight Peter has ever seen.

 

“Let’s sleep some more, then,” Peter proposes, shucking out of his sweater and jeans, until he’s dressed only in a tank top and boxer briefs.

 

Stiles opens up the blankets for him and presses close as soon as Peter slips under the covers. 

 

“Can we watch Star Wars later?” Stiles slurs the question, half-asleep even though he’s been only awake for a few minutes.

 

“Sure we can, frog,” Peter promises with a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head, “I even promise not to laugh as much when you try to talk like Darth Vader.”

 

The lack of little feet kicking at his shins and fingers pinching his sides at the jab tells him that Stiles already drifted off.

 

They stay like that the rest of the day: curled together and watching movies as Stiles dozes on and off.

 

Peter won’t ever admit it out loud, but he likes Stiles like this. He’s sniffling and clingy, but all the anxious energy he normally has is gone, and he’s lying still against Peter’s side, happy to just be close.

 

In the morning, Stiles will wake up happy and chipper, pushing Peter out of bed and demanding pancakes. 

 

For now though, he looks content enough sprawled on top of Peter with Wolfie squished between them, his two favorite wolves at his side.

 


End file.
